


Something New

by Charshee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Clean Version, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Stydia, much needed lightheartedness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:12:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charshee/pseuds/Charshee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia seeks new skills and it has Stiles flustered, a certain hunter ships them even from beyond the grave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something New

**Author's Note:**

> This is the clean and fluffy version, the smutty version shall be up soon!

Her well manicured fingers ran over the rows of arrow shafts, they rolled in their display case under her touch, cold metal whispering its potential for death into the banshee's keen ears. Green eyes flicked up to take in the wall of heavy weaponry. Lydia settles on the longbow, reaching to grab Allison's old, lightweight practice bow from the Argent's garage wall. Something like a breeze, but so subtle it may have been a breath, hits her out reached arm and causes goosebumps to spread across her skin. Something tells her to wrap her fingers around the sleek black bow Allison preferred in battle.

It's not heavy, exactly, but firm in her palm when she balances it's weight. It's suited to Allison, her father had it made for her when she began her training and it was tailored to her height, but it doesn't feel awkward when she holds it up as if ready to draw. There's a rush, she feels a little like she does when she's checking a perfected outfit in the mirror: confident, in control.

The string is tougher than she'd predicted, but a little more pressure and it glides back smoothly. She struggles with her fingers for a moment, before settling on three narrow digits below the arrow's place. She pulls the string back to the corner of her mouth, and squared her shoulders. Her hand wrapped around the girth of the handle made her feel a little flushed, her shoulder was starting to protest against the draw, but she couldn't help basking in the feeling a little longer. Thousands of years of genetic memory was flooding through her, ancestors who fought with blade and bow baying in her blood. She could see why her best friend had loved this so much.  
Lydia hadn't heard the door click open, but a poorly stifled intake of air made her turn to the light now cutting across the garage floor.

"Hey," he sounds a little sheepish, as if he'd been caught spying on worse than just her playing with weapons.

"Hey, Stiles!" She's blushing and she doesn't know why, lowering the bow to her side she takes in the fact that he's looking a little flustered as well.

"You ever do that with.. With her?" He gestures at the wall of archery artefacts her father has been unable to remove.

"No, well, I watched. I was just," she bites her lip quite sharply, pain wins over grief, "remembering."

Stiles nods, and smiles at her, hoping to pull her back and wipe that sad, distant look from her face. He gets a wane twitch of the corners of her mouth in response, but he'll take it.

"What are you doing here?" She asks him, and he looks down at the keys he's forgotten he was holding,

"Oh, Chris lent me his keys, told me to get something better than a bat and keep it in the jeep with everything that's been going on. What about you?"

Lydia picks her own keys up off the workbench, jingling them in the air,

"I have a spare. I sit in her room sometimes."

"Oh." He doesn't push, guilt is threatening to overcome him, he needs to get out.

"Look, how about I'll grab myself one of those 'lightsabers' for the jeep, which Mr. Argent specifically told me to avoid, and one of those straw targets. You bring the bow and some arrows, you can show me your archery prowess?"

She doesn't speak for a moment, she's a little caught off guard, just watches him as he walks around he room grabbing things from shelves.

"Unless you have other plans?" His arms fall to his sides and he looks at her as if she's already turned him down, his shoulders slumped a little at her silence.

"No, no, I'm free. That sounds.. Yeah, let's."

* * *

 

They're a mile past the trail, and she's made it very clear how convinced she was that the car was going to crap out on them at any moment and leave them stranded to walk back to the start of the trail in the coming dark.

"Don't doubt the jeep." He'd said, patting the wheel affectionately, while inside he was praying he wouldn't have to duct tape anything in front of her, because there'd be no getting her back in the passenger seat in that case.

They'd both messed about with the taser, the quiet woods and company made them feel safer than they had in years, despite their lack of usual supernatural allies. After double and triple checking the safety features and switching the power off he'd chased her about with it while she giggled and complained that her shoes weren't designed for this kind of thing. It was him, however, that got his toes hooked under a tree root and came in sudden contact with the ground. They both laughed then, and began setting the target up on a stretch of ground that wasn't so covered with trees.

She stood facing the target, with an arrow on her string, and she felt decidedly foolish under his watchful gaze. It's no surprise when the first arrow she releases is a flop, hitting her forearm on its journey and driving itself into the forest floor a few paces in front of the target. She sighs, refusing to look at him. 

This time when she draws she pauses before release, double checking her stance. She's suddenly struck with an image of her hunter, mid draw, and tries her best to mimic her position from memory.

The arrow whipped through the air, it was a stronger draw this time, and her spirits rise when she hears the thump of metal hitting the packed straw. It's not perfect, no where near the bullseye, but it hit the target. Lydia spins to face Stiles, a grin of pride spreading against her sweet face. He snaps his gaping jaw shut, and smiles back at her, clapping hard. Her joy had suddenly made him want to cry. It was so rare, in these dark times, to see her smile like that, see her love herself like that, even for a moment. The sight of her with the bow, eyes focused and string taught, was making him feel something else altogether.

She clicks a third arrow into place, raising the weapon and beginning to draw. A strange sensation was creeping up her arm from the bow, a shiver was whispering down her spine. She draws slowly, and later she'll shake away any thought of the strange sensation she felt, hands guiding her arms, straightening her spine. Her eyes followed the arrow down, letting the tip hit just above the red circle in her line of sight. A nudge, or a gust of wind, or a nod from an old friend, and she looses the arrow; this time it hits dead centre.

He whoops at her triumph, and begins closing the distance between them. She drops the bow into the leaves and strides towards him, laughing as he envelopes her in a congratulatory embrace. It's so natural to them now, these little moments of closeness spark up between them more and more. When they watch movies together, on nights when they're both too worried to go home after their study sessions, she slips her bare feet into his lap to warm them. Last weekend he'd given her an impromptu foot rub that resulted in her falling asleep and stretching her legs across his lap. He'd feared that moving would disturb her, and the only time he saw the anxiety leave her features was when she slept, so he spent the night upright on the living room couch.  
They step back from the embrace, both embarrassed for some reason they can't identify, neither able to meet the others' eyes. The air is thick and seemingly charged around them, both feel the urge to reach out, but something holds them back. 

She's not sure if she even moved, if she's totally honest she could've sworn she felt someone push her, but she stumbled forwards, falling against him. Her palms feel electrified against his warm chest, her fingers spread over the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Lydia raises her head to meet his warm, whiskey eyes, which are roaming her face for some sort of sign. He must have found it, because his hands are suddenly against her cheeks, and he's leaning closer. 

She can feel Stiles's breath fluttering against her lips, she can feel the warmth of his flesh, still he's unsure of whether she really wants this, he can't quite believe she's not pulling away. So Lydia closes the gap between them, just to prove it, just to drive the point home.


End file.
